Don't Let Me Get Me
by IvoryClover0
Summary: So Christian decides to leave France and go back to England...Will he be killed before he can make up his mind to write their story? FIND OUT! R/R
1. Winter to Spring...

A/N: I used the title from a song by Pink. so, just to tell you.Anyway, I have never been good at trying to write this stuff, but I thought I'd try. Just for the heck of it.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Well, not anything from the movie.but anyway, ON WITH THE STORY!  
  
Don't Let Me Get Me.  
  
Winter changed to spring as Christian frantically tried to rid himself of the haunting song. The last song that had glided so smoothly from his only love, Satine's delicate lips. The last one he really remembered, anyway. He noticed that his idealistic mind had been thrown out the window, only to be replaced by the pessimistic new personality that was revolted by love. What had happened to him? It had only been nine months since his beloved Satine had died, while happily in his arms. Yet, he still longed for a few of the last words she had spoken, to be taken from his distressed mind. "Christian," she had said, "you have to move on. Tell our story." (A/N: I think that was it) He feared that he would have to break that hesitant promise. How could he write down this torturous story? How could he even think to keep this promise which would haunt his memories and give him nightmares and fitful sleeps for the rest of his life as it was?! 'No,' He thought as he reminisced about the days when he had been able to spend every waking minute with her, 'I have to do this. I promised.', but all the while he regretted promising the impossible. 'She seemed to be holding back death until I promised. Maybe, if I hadn't, she would still be here.' All the while, he was imagining Satine fighting the pain for him because of the stubbornness that he could have held against her. It was sickening. So, that's exactly what happened to our bedraggled poet. He woke after a fitful night that had been filled with trips to a bucket across the room, which felt like it was under quarantine -for he refused to leave or grant admittance to the people who were worried about him-; he finally suppressed the thought in record time..  
  
A/N: Ok so it was WAY shorter than ANYTHING else that I have ever read or allowed my self to read that was in short chapters that take to long to come out.Tell me if you like it, and don't hesitate to criticize, I need help on this.I'll write as much and as soon as I can! Tell me what you think the rating should be.Keep in mind that it will have a violent twist and a tragic ending (maybe).Until next time. -IvoryClover0 


	2. Bigger and Better Things? Or Just more A...

A/N: So have you told me what U think? I didn't think so.Tell me! Everyone who reads this story! And to those of you who have obliged my "request", THANK YOU!!!  
  
Disclaimer: If everything was my way, and I owned the story etc, Satine wouldn't die in the movie. She would die in a sequel movie.but, sadly, I don't own the people that I can't take credit for.  
  
Don't Let Me Get Me.  
  
We last saw our poet sulking depressingly in his little flat.NOT ANYMORE! Christian has left the building and is on to bigger and better things (A/N: I know this wouldn't really happen.)! Actually, he is just going to buy more Absinthe, "Come What May" still running through his head-- along with every other song that they ever sang.-- horribly. Oh, how he regretted ever leaving the garret. He had been bombarded by the "friends" that were trying to help. He had been refusing to eat the food they offered him for months. He decided to throw them of his sent, the hounds, by leaving the dumpy little hole in the wall that he lived in. Yes, that's what he would do. He would travel past the abandoned elephant and run down former Moulin Rouge, past the signs leading to this resentful town; with its bums and whores around every corner, it was not exactly a tourist attraction. So off he went. Off to be discovered by the many critics and the professional play writers of London. On the train, once again. Headed to the rather unfamiliar, now, town where he had spent his childhood. Of course, he would never let his father know he was there. That would lead to either: trying to make up an incredible lie that would most likely add to the depression and guilt he already felt-or- he would have to tell the terribly long and heartbreaking story to his deceitful father who would probably just gloat about how he was now cured of his "ridiculous obsession with love". He hated the idea of both possibilities so he decided to stay away from his father. He also decided that the question of where he would live would be answered when he got to that point. He could always, he thought to himself, live the same kind of penniless existence that he had lived before. Well, not entirely the same. No romance and soberness would only occur on rare occasions. Anyway, for now he made up his mind to try sleeping on this confounded contraption of a train. He awoke with a start as the conductor came throughout the train to make sure everyone that wanted to get off, got off. "Where are you headed, Sir?" The conductor asked, eying Christian's bedraggled clothing. "I am going to London." Christian said, quite coolly. "Well then this is your stop." The conductor seemed to be trying to get rid of the poor fellow. It didn't take long to board the ferry to Brighton. From there he boarded a train to London. His luck was horrible, seeing how the train got stalled for two extra hours. While all this was happening he slept fitfully, and dreamed, once again, of "Her". He woke from a rather painful dream when his subconscious decided it couldn't handle anymore. The train had begun to move again. Something in the air bothered him. Just the general feeling. He got up and headed for the dining compartment, and who should darken his doorstep? It was none other than that horrible creature: The Duke. The Duke noticed Christian right away. Oh, the belligerence! The Duke was ready with an insult that made Christians blood boil. "Where's your beloved "courtesan" oh penniless sitar player??? Hmmm? Did she leave you for another maharajah?" He sneered, knowing full well everything that had transpired that night. Without a word, in a fit of blind rage, Christian's fist began to take on a mind of its own. Before he could stop himself, Christian had broken The Duke's nose with one fire filled punch. Well, that was STUPID. Seconds later, Christian was on the floor fighting for his life. Luckily for him, this particular train had an anti-arms rule. He ended up just passing out as one of the Duke's cronies tried to strangle him. Christian awoke, rather painfully, in a hospital bed and, oh for heaven's sake! There was his father. Well, so much for avoiding him, but wait, he looked.worried? Ooook. Where had his father been taken to and where did they find such an authentic look-alike? He tried to get up, but found he couldn't. Apparently, that heavy son of a gun had smashed a couple of his ribs completely. Ow. That was all he remembered. There was also a woman. Hm. He didn't remember ever meeting her. "Excuse me," He said in a strained voice, both people seemed to come out of a trance, "but who are you?" He directed this question to the woman. "When those men tackled you and you passed out, I laid you on the seat across from me. When the train got to London I contacted your father, by looking through your belongings," she added with a grin, "and brought you here. You've been unconscious for two days. My name is Saline, by the way." When Christian grimaced, the smile faded from Saline's face. It was time for her to leave. "Well, goodbye." She said, as she slipped out the door. Well, Christian would never see HER again. Nice going, Christian. Well, thanks to her and her unruly name, Christian must tell his father what had happened at the Moulin Rouge. Or would he? Maybe, just maybe, he could think up a lie that would get this insufferable man off his back, and in the mean time consol his heart.It was worth a try. Heck, he might even believe it himself. So he told the lie all about how he had written on play in Paris and decided to bring his career back home. It was so cleaver, he almost believed it himself. Almost. The inevitable word that had kept all his dreams from coming true. Well not anymore! He would make it in this world if it was the last thing he did. The only problem was, would it be the last thing he did?  
  
A/N: AHA! The LONGEST chapter I've ever written. I figured things were getting boring. Oh well. Give me your input. -IvoryClover0 


End file.
